The Moments of Implication
by trascendenza
Summary: A few short vignettes about what was and what should have been. The first one expands on why Ennis said, “Took me about a year a figure out it was that I shouldn’t a let you out a my sights.”


**Title: **The Moments of Implication (complete)

**Author:** Sheera

**Date written:** February 18, 2006

**Pairing:** Jack/Ennis

**Rating: **PG

**Plot summary:** Glimpses of what was and what should have been.

**Word count:** 1,176

**Disclaimer: **I don't own these characters—that honor goes to Ms. Proulx.

**Author's Note:** This piece started with Ennis's vignette, and progressed from there. I absolutely love the idea that seeded Ennis's story, and hope y'all enjoy it as well.

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**The Moments of Implication**

_Ennis_

The first time, it was an anomaly. Ennis had nearly forgotten the gut-wrenching pain, the harsh sound of his own breath, the lingering death of it. He had almost left behind some memories best left behind. When Alma went into labor, Ennis got her into the truck, no-nonsense, and wondered if it would take long since it was Alma's first birth. He was at home in this cycle, the perpetuation of life, slipping into this routine like an old pair of slippers. When he found out that neither Alma nor the baby might come out of that starchy white room, he moved not a muscle, freezing and melting simultaneously, gave the doctor a hard look, and made it to the bathroom barely in time once he was alone. Not his child.

The second time, it was an undeniable truth. Ennis spent many hours turning down the coffee the solicitous nurses offered him, paced instead of smoking, and wished for strong whiskey, the unwelcome but necessary comfort the golden bite would bring him. The buzz of voices in and out of the hospital settled around him like tide, sweeping in and out of his raw thoughts with the hours. At last, they brought his little girl out, ugly as any newborn creature, beautiful as any firstborn. He had wanted a boy, but he couldn't quite remember why now. Her mouth suckled the air, seeking somewhere familiar and warm to begin in this noisome, crowded world. His huge hands dwarfed her swaddled, warm body, the calluses catching on the soft fabric. "Hey, little darlin'," he said in a whisper, not wanting to wake her, but her small eyes struggled open anyway, determined not to be left out of her first conversation. They were a luminous blue, a slice of the sky, containing the purity and innocence that is only the privilege of those new to this world or those too long in it.

Those things best left behind constricted his throat. You're goin' a be Alma Junior, he said. For the woman who was supposed to be more. Alma Jr.'s eyes faded with time, but their implication did not.

_Jack_

When Jack held Bobby for the first time, he instantly loved him. Damn, boy, you goin' a be a knockout like your Ma here, he said. He laughed every time Bobby got a goofy smile, jumped out of bed every time he cried. Yet something about his part in creating this human life felt brittle and sour, and often when Lureen was not there, he felt a band constricting his chest, an inexorable claustrophobia. He knew, though he tried to deny it, that there was no way out now.

Sometimes when he drank strong whiskey, a faint and desirable taste played on his tongue, he chest expanded a bit, but mostly he found loss and wordless need which no amount of drink could sate.

_Alma_

As Alma grew to know Ennis better, she learned to recognize his moods—with the exception of one. It was a silence deeper even than his usual reserve, a distance that physically permeated the air around him. Once she had ventured to ask what was wrong with him and they didn't exchange more than ten words in for the next two weeks. Alma learned to be quiet when Ennis was like this, found out that her attempts to help generally did the opposite. She thought maybe another child take his mind off of it; he loved Alma Jr. in a way that awed her and occasionally brought out a twinge of jealousy. Francine only seemed to bring Ennis further into himself. Alma gave up trying to fix Ennis, but still wondered if it was a look of longing or pain that she saw on his stony face.

_Lureen_

Lureen thought that having Bobby would force Jack to grow up and settle down. He had, with surprisingly little resistance, but he seemed to have an itch that money, whiskey, and most of all, Lureen, couldn't scratch. Peculiar that they were in that order. As they sank more and more into their routine, the ebb and flow of daily living, Lureen wondered why they just couldn't seem to find more than a semblance of happiness. After all, she let Jack have all his affairs without a murmur of complaint… what more could a man want?

_Mrs. Twist_

Mrs. Twist closed the door slowly after Ennis left. She wished he'd had the sense to come when her husband wasn't home, but you couldn't expect too much from a man grieving. She was grieving herself, but it was something she had prepared for when Jack was barely ten. John had been fit to kill him, and she understood that Jack was not meant long for this world. She often wondered what kind of life Jack might have made for himself if things had been… different.

"He's a real fine man," she said to no one in particular; her husband didn't even bother to turn his head. A real fine man.

_Bobby_

Bobby finally met his grandmother. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but somehow she wasn't it. She was a quiet woman, so different from his father, a world apart from his own mother. He listened to her politely, but wondered about the things she chose not to say. They chatted over lunch, he saw his father's old room, and he left with the knowledge he had come for. Once on the mountain, he experienced a strange euphoria laced with grief, a melancholy that was a relief. At least he knew where his father was.

He hiked through the morning, looking for something special he could tell his wife Annie about since he'd missed her annual block party to be here. He didn't find much beyond pristine wilderness, a quiet that one couldn't feel in the city even when it slept.

As he was about to leave, he saw a family having a picnic. Their little girl was playing with the daisies, her saffron hair glinting in the sunlight, her delighted voice carrying on the wind. The mother was by the riverside filling a canteen with water, her reddish hair shielding her face from view and barely staying above the rush, tips teasing as if daring the water to defy gravity. She carried the canteens back to her husband's side, settled down next to him, and Bobby strained forward, tried to see her face more clearly. She looked out on the river while her husband was talking with their girl. The set of her shoulders belied the easy contentment of this scene, and when she turned her face in his direction, her eyes locking onto his, a whisper of recognition passed between them. Bobby smiled in a grimace-like way, nodded his head slightly, and left the mountain. Sometimes the implication of more was all a soul needed; sometimes it was more than one could handle, and Bobby knew that would not return to this place, but why, he could not say.


End file.
